Random, Again

 Posted by at 9:22 am  Life, Miscellaneous
Jan 082013
 

newmedusa The drawing-back continues apace. The decompression is something fierce, let me tell you.

So, some random links!

* Murder By The Book is closing, which is very sad. If anyone out there wants to buy a bookstore, well, you’ve got a chance now.

* I couldn’t help but cheer at Agatha here. (I’m going to be going around muttering “I DO NOT NEED RESCUING” all day now. And giggling.)

* The irrepressible, brave, and awesome Danny Marks talks about creativity and depression.

About that last one…I have a post in mind about anxiety and my own creative process, and I’m not sure I want to write it. *is thoughtful*

* Apparently birds don’t have salivary glands, but squirrels do, and you can consequently put hot sauce on birdseed to keep squirrels out of it. I am…conflicted about trying this. On the one hand, the entertainment factor with Squirrel!Napoleon is HYOOOJ. On the other, well, it seems a cruel thing to do to a creature who’s simply struggling to survive and avoid Odd Trundles’s friendly advances.

* On the Odd Trundles front, yesterday he went to the vet. Bulldogs have amazing jaw strength, and Odd decided yesterday was the day to exercise it. On a can of squeezy-cheez. There were definite puncture marks, and the vet (a very nice lady who is utterly calm even in the midst of bloody crises, as I well know) blinked and said, “Well. He’s a snapper, isn’t he.” In Odd’s defense, he got several vaccine pokes and one intranasal vaccine. I really don’t blame him for deciding a can held down near the floor was fair game. I am, however, exceedingly grateful that the damn thing didn’t explode. Because knowing my luck, that would have happened.

In other news, I really need to buy milk today. It’s always something, and heaven knows the kidlings will have strong bones if they continue at this rate. I think we probably keep a dairy or two afloat all on our lonesome.

Over and out.

Oct 222012
 

I went running in the rain this morning, the first run of this winter’s season. It reminded me of why I lace up and hit the pavement. There’s a certain pitch of physical misery that I find damn near irresistible, probably because I’m putting myself through it. I’m sure if the zombiepocalypse hit and I had to be physically miserable, I would bitch about it endlessly, even if just inside my own head. Or to my dogs. I am thinking that my zombiepocalypse survival program will include canine support.

Anyway, Miss B and I went running in a cold driving rain and came home soaked and spent. I am relaxed and feeling the endorphins still vibrating in my bones and veins, and she is finally calm enough not to notice when poor Odd Trundles tries to get her to play. On and on we went, and the rain kept most of the idiots who let their dogs off-leash (around schools, for God’s sake!) inside, so all I had to worry about was Miss B’s doggie synapses fusing every time a schoolbus, SUV, or truck went by. I keep asking her what the bloody hell she would DO with one if she caught one, and she keeps giving me this look that says oh, you idiot, first things first…

Even my dog thinks I’m insufferable. Ha.

I am about to plunge into writing the third Bannon & Clare adventure, which means I’m filling my head with tons of Jack the Ripper and Victoriana. I’ve noticed that my spoken language gets far more formal when I’m writing the sorceress and mentath, just like it gets a little more flowery when I’m writing fantasy. I wonder–other penmonkeys, do your verbal patterns change as a result of what you’re writing?

Also, I am thinking about the nature of connection versus consumption lately. Does a lamp spend its light, or does it just shine? *makes face at self*

Eh, my gaze keeps straying away from the screen to the current stack of Jack the Ripper books. I suppose it’s a sign. I don’t even know where The Ripper Affair begins. And there’s some Springheel Jack I should look into, as well as the things that might live under Londinium. Why are we always down in the shite?, Ludovico the assassin grumbles, and I simply grin and inform him that as long as he survives in my books, it’s not going to be pleasant. This isn’t a tea party, you know. It’s a clockwork hell.

Time to start carving and see what peels away from the bone. Over and out.

photo by: aveoree

An Ironic Event

 Posted by at 7:57 am  Event
Oct 182012
 

So yeah, barely a few hours after I did yesterday’s post on being an introvert, I was asked to fill in at an Educator Appreciation Night down at the local Barnes & Noble.

…yeah, the Universe has a sense of humor.

SO. If you’re in the area and want to see me, today I’ll be at the Educator Appreciation Event at this Barnes & Noble, 4:30-6PM. I will be signing and they will have copies of my books on hand. Driving directions and other details can be found here. I’ll be wearing my widest, bubbliest extrovert smile. *braces self*

See you there?

photo by: dullhunk
Oct 172012
 

Crossposted to the Deadline Dames. Check us out!

I’m getting comfortable with the fact that I am an introvert, and I have arranged my life accordingly. There must be some writers who love attending conventions, who get a charge from speaking on panels, who are energized by people and interaction, who like crowds.

I am not one of them.

It takes me weeks to recover from a convention, and days to recover from a signing. When I say “recover” I mean just that–I am left drained and almost unable to function, even when I’ve had months to prepare. Being “on” for a convention or a signing is akin to running a marathon with casts on every limb and rabid dogs chasing me–difficult, dangerous, nerve-wracking. (I worked retail for most of my life before I managed to make a living writing. My ability to appear extroverted directly descends from those hellish days.) I am not quite as solitary as Bukowski, or as protective of my solitude as Rausch. I can deliver a speech or get through a signing or deal with a crowd. By sheer dint of long practice, I’ve managed to even appear “bubbly” and “energetic” during such things. Then I crawl home and into bed, and am wiped out for a long while.

It’s only now, thirty-odd years into my life, that I have the luxury of doing what I’m mostly inclined to. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t breathe a sigh of relief when I reach my office, settle in my chair, listen to the silence, and feel the stories crowd close. It’s taken a long time, a lot of hard work, and finding out that there are introverts and they’re normal too for me to quit worrying about whether or not I’m going to snap one day and retreat to a mountaintop, where I will live naked and filthy and muttering to myself. (The odds of this happening anyway are not something I care to think about, thank you.)

Do I get lonely? Not likely. With the kids and the dogs, I couldn’t be lonely if I tried, not to mention the cat crowding my lap as I type this. I do worry that my introvert bent makes me a worse mother, but of course, if I was the opposite I would be worrying that my hunger for interaction would make me a worse mother. (There is no winning in motherhood. Unless you count the long-term satisfaction of seeing the spawn reach adulthood as reasonably healthy as possible, having been only slightly damaged by one’s own ridiculous issues.)

This is only partly why I don’t attend conventions. There’s the cost of travel and the time away from working, which I can ill afford. (There’s also the fact of harassment at conventions, which this blog post is not about; suffice to say I’ve read each account of con harassment hitting the Internet with a profound sense of recognition.) And the fact that I am a single mother means childcare, expensive at best, is problematic enough to add to travel and the drain on working time to equal Lili Not Going Anywhere, Sorry.

I used to worry that my reluctance to leave the house meant something was wrong with me. I used to think that if I didn’t interact, I would begin to lose the habits of observation that inform characters. Fortunately(?), I am forced into interactions often enough–through the internet as well–that those skills don’t really lose their edge. Besides, to survive as an introvert, and to survive as an introverted child in an environment of stress and abuse, hones said skills to such a degree that blunting them might almost be a mercy. Hypervigilance and hyperawareness are probably a component of why I dread groups of people–the level of detailed attention required to protect myself in that situation is overwhelming.

It isn’t usual to have your life arranged to suit yourself. It’s pretty damn unusual to have that particular luxury. You also cannot arrange your life so without a great deal of thought about what precisely does suit you, and writing is very good for that. Also, an introvert doesn’t have to like giving speeches, doing signings, speaking on convention panels, or dealing with crowds to become really stinking good at doing it.

You also do not have to like copyedits, revision, building a social networking presence, or marketing in order to get really good at it. Every occupation, even if it’s your dream job and you’ve arranged your life in a manner that suits you very well, has bits that you will not like but that you are required to perform with some facility. Just because I’m an introvert and it drains me near to transparency to deal with large groups doesn’t mean I don’t do it when it’s necessary, with as much panache as I can muster. (I just bitch about it later, I guess. Nobody’s perfect.)

So I’m retreating back into my cave, barring the door, and letting the extroverts have their big bright world while I sit in silence and create new ones. To each their own.

So, my fellow writers: introvert, extrovert? Or somewhere in the middle of the continuum?

photo by: andyarthur
Oct 152012
 

Get out the bubbly, ring the bells, give everyone a day off, give the kids some fireworks! It’s celebration time!

What on earth am I talking about? Well, my writing partner, the Selkie, the fabulous, long-suffering and awesome Mel Sterling, is a finalist in the Harlequin So You Think You Can Write contest! *throws confetti* I have been bugging and bugging and BUGGING her to submit things for a while, dammit! You can read the first few scenes of her utterly fabulous Grand Theft, Auto here.

I am so thrilled I am chair-dancing. I think I punctured her eardrums when I called her to congratulate her. (My dolphin-squeal of joy is, I am sad to say, both legendary and glass-shattering.) Anyway, GO MEL, YOU DESERVE IT, I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!

In other news, I am engaged upon umpty-scrump loads of laundry, since the new washer has arrived and been unceremoniously pressed into service. The delivery truck had barely cleared the driveway (I was their first stop of the day, poor guys) before I was loading it to the gills and muttering be good for Lili now, and wash these, hmmm? in my creepiest quasi-Yoda voice.

Yes, I talk to my appliances. I am One Of Those Old Ladies Who Narrates Her Day. That’s why I have the dogs, so I can fool myself into thinking I’m talking to someone who wants to hear without having to leave the house. Everyone wins.

Anyway, there’s that, and then there’s cleaning up a Sooper-Sekrit Projekt, and then there’s a Not-So-Sekrit Projekt. The Not-So-Sekrit one is, of course, material culled from writing posts from the last six years or so. Remember when my site went down? I managed to get a copy of all the raw data from the entries, and paid the ever-resourceful Monica Valentinelli to go through and turn the raw stuff full of hyperlinks and database table stuff into actual, you know, paragraphs that can be read without crossing your eyes and cringing. (She’s worth every penny, too, so if you’re looking for a freelancer, I highly recommend her.) Now I’ve got this huge chunk o’ text, and I’m considering turning it into an ebook. However, I don’t want to do it all myself. Anyone out there who has any ideas? *looks hopeful*

Other than that, my weekend was full of vomit, stomach cramps, and finishing revisions on the Cinderella story (oh, shush, I’ll tell you more when I can) to turn it into a reasonable first draft, as well as trying to exercise a neurotic Miss B enough to blunt her edge of desperate energy. It’s getting to where I need Mondays to recover from my weekends. Sheesh.

In other words, holding steady and keeping busy. And making plans to drag my writing partner out for some celebratory sipping and nibbling. Once I get the mountain of laundry turned into a molehill…

photo by: Furryscaly
Oct 022012
 

Hey. Psst. Hey you.

Wanna read some awesome suspenseful romance?

My writing partner, the Selkie, entered the Harlequin So You Think You Can Write? contest. Right now it’s just the first 5K words of Grand Theft, Auto, a completely awesome story I’ve been bugging her to submit SOMEWHERE for a while now. (One of the many. You hear me, Selkie? ONE OF THE MANY.) Wanna read it? Of course you do. Here it is. And if you like the taste, be sure to vote for it!

This morning’s run was sans Miss B. Her paws are a bit worn, and I think she needs a break. She does not agree, but she is not In Charge here. Anyway, I have found that she forces me to run at a reasonable pace, and running without her means I end up covered in grass stains, retasting breakfast, and quite possibly bruised. And feeling like Supergirl, of course. All hail endorphins.

So, yeah. I recently finished a retelling of Cinderella that I thought I would never get to a finished zero draft on. I don’t think I’ve been quite fair to the book, because I thought I could produce it while buying a house and moving. BOY HOWDY WAS I WRONG. So now I have a zero draft that is far sloppier and shoddier than such things usually are, and a lot more work than usual to get it into reasonable first-draft shape. But at least the corpse is on the table and it can be chopped, rearranged, and padded. It’s better than it being unfinished.

Also, I’m late with page proofs already, and there’s been a boondoggle over missing paragraphs. Which is partly my fault, because I am focusing on one thing at a time instead of multitasking like I usually do. It requires physical and emotional energy to multitask that I thought I’d have. Guess I was wrong.

So, when one’s wrong, one picks oneself up, dusts oneself off, and goes back into the fray. Accompanied by a bulldog puppy whose newest obsession is chewing used Kleenex and a reproachful Australian Shepherd who simply cannot believe I went out without her. (She thinks that a lot. Apparently I cannot be trusted on my own. I really can’t argue…) So here it is, into the wild blue yonder.

Even Supergirl gets tired sometimes.

photo by: Simon Cocks
Jul 232012
 
Snake warning sign
Matt Frederick / Foter

Oh, the Internet. A wonderful place to play, a great boon to a writer. Full of kittens and rainbows and Neil Patrick Harris.

It’s also full of things that bite. And I see a lot of writers, new, wannabe, and professional, who don’t take some elementary precautions when playing. So here’s five things I wish I could tell every writer playing on the Internet:

1. GET A PO BOX. No, seriously. Do it, and use it for things like DMCA notices, fan mail, return address when replying to fan mail, return address when sending swag out, etc. Yes, I know going in to check a PO box is a hassle. It’s better than some asshole epirate posting your home address and inviting people to come visit you (this HAS actually happened, folks), or a stalker showing up at your front door. Nobody can live truly anonymously, but you can make it a little harder for the jerks and dipwads of the world to spread your personal information all over the Internet. Plus, having a PO box–or if you don’t want one of those, many mail places have boxes that look like actual street addresses–can give you a few seconds’ worth of critical distance when receiving nasty letters or even bad news. Stalkers, unhappy news, angry letters, or nastiness doesn’t have to come directly to your doorstep. Plus, as a business expense, it’s tax deductible. BOOYEAH, double win.

2. THINK BEFORE YOU POST A PIC. When I worked for a bank (long story) one of the things we were told in training was not to have pictures of friends or family at our desks/stations. Taking a risk that someone will know what your kids/significant other/spouse looks like was a Bad Idea. I found this idea so compelling that I’ve held to it the entire time I’ve been on the Internet. It’s not just that my kids need their privacy (and stalkers, my sister’s stalker among them, do NOT need to know certain things)–but also, you won’t see pics identifying the front of my house, you won’t see my running routes even though ZombiesRun and the other app I use to track my mileage has that functionality. My friends (and Code Boy) have pseudonyms I don’t breach unless they’re “public” people in their own right, and I don’t link to their private journals or web presences. Is this a pain? Yes, sometimes. Is it perhaps overprotective and too cautious? Maybe. But I would rather have this caution and not need it than the other way ’round. When I see people posting pictures of their kids or loved ones online, I feel a tickle of worry, especially if that person has any sort of public presence–and for a writer, your blog/Facebook/Twitter IS a public presence.

3. DECIDE HOW OPEN YOU WANT THAT KIMONO. If you plan on being a published or self-published author, your web presence will be about access and connection your fans want to and from you. It does involve sharing a certain degree of your life, your views, your personality, your time and energy. Decide how open you want to be, and err on the side of safety. As my writing partner always says, you can always decide to open the kimono a little further and let people take a peek…but once they’ve seen, they don’t unsee. The Internet itself never unsees. (Don’t believe me? Just look at the Wayback Machine…) Spend some time lurking around Fandom Wank to get an idea of the repeating cycle of Internet shitstorm, and look at authors behaving badly so you have an idea of what not to do. At one point or another, your Internet career will hold a fuckup or two. If you can’t always act classy, apologize and shut up as soon as you realize you’re being unclassy, and move on.

4. SEX, POLITICS, RELIGION, AND BREAKUPS. These are juicy things to talk about, and you shouldn’t hold back. You should, however, be prepared for flames, trolls, wank, People Being Wrong On The Internet. Assess your comfort level, do it honestly, and always err on the side of cautious to begin with; you can always loosen up and take risks later. Do you really want to talk about your divorce? I didn’t until it was all over and finalized, for a variety of reasons. Do you really want to talk about a chronic illness or sexual dysfunction/experience? You don’t have to censor yourself, and the Internet is great for support groups and supportiveness, but I heartily advise spending 24hrs at least after you’ve written a possibly-emotional post about it to think about if it’s something you want out there on servers not under your control. (Because, you know, the servers that power this whole Internet thing ARE NOT under your control. Just think about that for a minute or two.) I talk about my politics, and I get flak for it. I talk about sex and religion, and I get flak. Most of the time the proportion of flak to reasoned, supportive, or thoughtful dialogue is pretty low, but the exceptions to that rule can be a doozy. Be prepared for that. Which leads us to:

5. GET A COMMENT POLICY BEFORE YOU NEED IT. I suggest some variation of John Scalzi’s. Figure out your moderation policy before you have a single comment. You can always alter it, true. And some sites have mod policies that make them rank and foul with abuse. If you’re paying for site hosting, you don’t have to take any shit from anyone, but you also won’t get a lot of people stopping by if you are a total comment autocrat who only wants yes-men and toelickers. (Or, you know, you might, but sooner or later your site and fanbase will implode. Long-term, it’s just not an incredibly viable strategy, despite what Certain People seem to think. Snork.) If your author platform is through LJ or something similar, you can block and ban, you know. It’s your prerogative. Once you do it, though, stick to it. Don’t block and unblock as if you’re a dippy tweener deciding who to unfriend. Be a big girl/boy about it, make the cut, and don’t go looking for the person you blocked or banned so you can see just how broken up they are about you not paying attention.

I could add a lot more, but there’s a lot of work to get done today. Do Mama Lili proud, chickadees, and play safely around those poisonous things.

Over and out.

Anxiety Dreams

 Posted by at 7:21 am  Personal Schmersonal
Jul 182012
 
Johann Heinrich Füssli 053
Foter

I dream in Technicolor, and I often remember them. Dreams stick in a little dusty file cabinet in the back of my head, and often I’ll incorporate them into stories, or they become the tiny bit of grit around which a story will build itself up in nacreous layers.

Last night’s dream offerings (at least, the ones I can remember clearly) were both pretty obviously anxiety-based. The first was a violently-yellow schoolbus out in the middle of a weed-strewn field, and inside there were hostages (children or not, I’m not sure) that it was my mission to rescue. I was driving up to the bus in a convertible (so not the proper vehicle for a rescue run) and thinking worriedly that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do when I got there.

The other was of a homeless girl struggling to survive in France, probably via Breakfast in Babylon, who ended up being bitten by a vampire much less handsome than Max Schreck. She was desperate to figure out what to do, and at that point I realized I was her sister. She bit me, but there was no effect, and we went from place to place keeping her out of the sun and looking for a cure…until the other vampires showed up and I found out I was stronger and faster than I had been.

Still, it ended up with her getting staked. Not very fun at all.

So yeah, anxiety dreams. Dreams where I have to protect or rescue someone, but I’m unable to do so. If there’s anything guaranteed to drive me to distraction, that’s it. Although…that last one does have potential for a story.

In other news, it’s the anniversary of Jane Austen’s passing. I kind of feel like watching Colin Firth smoulder a little in that Pride and Prejudice starring him and Jennifer Ehle, who was the best Lizzie Bennett EVAR. The bit where he stares at her after she rescues his sister from embarrassment, my goodness but it makes me melt every time. *flutters a little* All in all, it’s probably a good cure for a night full of anxiety dreams.

Over and out.

Serial Madness

 Posted by at 7:30 am  Contests, Writing
Jun 202012
 
Justice Legg of America
JD Hancock / Foter

So…I am having thoughts of writing serial fiction over at the Deadline Dames site.

And so, I thought I would invite you, darling readers, into the process.

Here’s what I want: something you’d like to see me write in serial fiction. Don’t pitch me your novel. Do please understand that whatever I write, I retain all rights to. (You want to take the idea in another direction, do it, spend the work on it, and submit it. ‘Nuff said.) Do understand that I reserve the right to write what I please. Do please understand that I will take everything you’ve said and go in my own direction. And don’t tell me what a hack I am to even be contemplating this.

With those codicils in place, the floor is open. Let’s do some serial wonder, my dears. Give me your suggestions…

Anthems

 Posted by at 12:14 pm  Life, Miscellaneous
Jun 192012
 

Made me learn a little bit faster,
Made my skin a little bit thicker,
Makes me that much smarter
Thanks for making me…a fighter.

So this is my anthem today:

It kind of sucks when music one loves gets inextricably bound up with someone who betrays you. Now I can’t listen to the Waterboys for a while, or Ennio Morricone. Sucks, because I love Mike Scott, and Morricone is my go-to writing music for certain moods. But there it is, and there’s enough music out there (We have grown apart, music and I…There’s been too much of it, Malach says in the back of my head…) for me to find something else that will work.

I finally was able to run this morning and could sweat off the agony and anger. Now I’m calm, and as happy as possible. The worst is behind, and it will only get better now.

So, what’s your anthem today? Give me some new music, my doves. Lili is listening.